The One That Mattered
by Casey J Mitchell
Summary: Set after series three. With John and Mary preoccupied with the pregnancy, Molly steps in to help Sherlock figure out what's going on with Moriarty but she can't help but let her feelings get in the way, feelings that might even be returned.
1. Chapter 1: An Irritable Detective

Sherlock and Molly. Post series 3. I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters.

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Molly looked over at Sherlock's body, lying motionless across the table at Bart's hospital. His eyes were closed and he took small controlled breaths, hands pressed together under his nose. He had been in this position, unmoving, for close to an hour. Molly, who had watched him for about 20 minutes before giving up, was now fluttering around the lab, cleaning beakers and organizing slides. She had more important work to do in the morgue but since Moriarty's return Sherlock had been a right mess and she didn't want to leave him alone when he was being so unpredictable. Suddenly, his eyes flew open and he sat up swinging his legs over the edge of the counter and jumping to his feet in one fluid motion. Molly turned; startled by his abrupt change in position, "sherlo-" she started.

"It doesn't make sense!" Sherlock roared, interrupting her. "I've explored eighteen possibilities as to how Moriarty has returned but none of them make sense! I'm missing something… Obviously he faked his suicide. He was never willing to kill himself; he just needed me to think that to ensure that I would jump. But why?" Sherlock slapped the counter in agitation. "Scenario one, his gun was actually loaded with..."

Molly watched as Sherlock spewed out deductions in a manner more robotic than human. His voice, the deep melodic baritone she loved, was devoid of emotion with the exception of a sarcastic or condescending remark here and there, though his eyes shone with excitement. Even in his frustration she could see that he was entertained by the return of his so called 'arch nemesis'. His brilliant mind had been sparked and he thrived off the energy that came from this new puzzle. Sherlock was pacing around the room in a bit of a frenzy, continuing to speak to no one in particular.

"... Which is why he couldn't have used a personal double because then his shoes wouldn't have been polished." He spun around to face Molly grabbing her shoulders violently, "what am I missing?" he demanded. His nose was just inches from Molly's and he glared into her eyes angrily, his irritation making him more forceful. The look of surprise and fear across Molly's face jolted him from his trance and he released her, turning and walking out the door without another word. Molly stood frozen in shock as he walked briskly away, coat flapping behind him. She wasn't really scared of him but he had given her quite the start and on top of that his proximity had made her thoughts a little dazed. Molly remained unmoving, standing awkwardly in the middle of the lab, trying to remember how to move her limbs when the door of the lab opened. Sherlock's head peeked around the door, "well are you coming or not?" he said pointedly before turning around and walking back down the hall, his dark curls disappearing around a corner. This was enough to shake Molly from her stupor and she rushed down the hallway after him. She finally caught up and they walked through the hospital in silence. Molly wasn't quite sure where they were going but she knew better than to ask, instead she took the time to observe Sherlock. He looked proper as always and he wore dark pants and a blazer paired with a light purple shirt. His coat, as perusal, had the collar popped in such a way that accented his sharp features and Molly had to remind herself that Sherlock would notice if she stared at him any longer. She just wished he would stop walking so fast and stand close to her again. As if reading her mind, Sherlock froze mid-step and pivoted on his heels, turning abruptly to face her. Molly had to stop and walk back to where he was standing, panic colouring her cheeks as she tried to remember if she had accidentally said anything about her daydreams aloud.

"Fancy some chips" he asked, in a way that sounded more like a statement then a question.

Molly stared back at him blankly, "well, um... I... um..." was all she managed to say.

"Come on Molly, it wasn't a difficult question. Are you hungry?" Sherlock asked again. His tone was impatient but there was kindness in his eyes. He waited for her answer expectantly, biting his lips as he tried to feign patience.

"Well I already ate," Molly said, " but if you wanted I guess we could..."

"Oh good" Sherlock replied, interrupting her yet again. "John said I have to remember that other people need to eat more often but I don't need food until at least tomorrow, when apparently I'm suppose to meet John and Mary for lunch. Molly was about to reply, but Sherlock didn't give her the chance. Pausing for only a fraction of a second he continued to ramble, the air of distance growing in his eyes as he gazed off into something only he could see. "I don't understand why. Just a formality really. They're going to ask me if they can stay at Baker Street while Moriarty is still a threat because Mary is concerned about the baby. They're both feeling very awkward about asking me, been avoiding it all week. Not sure... Something about boundaries or sentiment... I don't know, but really who cares. Anyway, yes forget lunch then, we have work to do". Molly listened patiently to Sherlock's irrelevant tangent, his voice rising with excitement and an erratic gleam forming in his eyes. The consulting detective was without a doubt the most amazing human being she had ever met but sometimes he was so entirely socially awkward and she wasn't sure if that humanized him or made him more alien. Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes, as her internal thoughts chided her. _Of course he didn't actually want to have lunch with you silly girl… but he was trying to be nice, that must count for something._

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I hope you guys like it so far. I've already started writing the next section. Please, if you have any comments on my writing style or the portrayal of the characters or the plot let me know! I appreciate the feedback.


	2. Chapter 2: Because You Matter

Molly had been around with Sherlock all week. He had complained that John was at parenting classes with Mary or at work, so Molly had offered to stand in again. It was a little awkward knowing that she was really just second to John but Sherlock didn't seem to care about that, although he would occasionally confuse their names. During the past few days they had inspected the roof of the hospital where Moriarty 'died', but there was not much of use because it had been so long since that strange and horrible day Sherlock jumped. They also spoke to some of Mycroft's people, much to Sherlock's displeasure, about Moriarty's possible whereabouts as well as what his new intentions may be. Unfortunately, besides the obvious fact that his face had appeared on every television in London, according to all other records Jim Moriarty appeared to remain blissfully cadaverous. Altogether, little progress had been made on the case. However, they had managed to solve two other small cases during the week: a break in and a disappearance. Molly pointed this out to Sherlock in an attempt to curb his disappointment but it only made him angrier.

They were both in a foul humour that day for their respective reasons and it appeared as though the wave of misfortune was going to continue crashing them about, with little hope of mercy or abatement. Sherlock had forgotten to eat for three days and although he always denied it, an empty stomach made him highly irritable and of unpleasant character. John once pointed out that this was not so different from Sherlock's regular personality, though his input went unappreciated. Likewise, Molly had had a stressful day at the morgue; the new intern incorrectly placed the identification tags on several bodies and it had taken them all day to sort it out. She had then returned to the flat to discover that Sherlock had taken her favourite lipstick and applied it to a collection of severed heads. On top of everything, it had begun to poor rain and they were stuck in the flat for the rest of the day. Molly sat on the couch and watched Sherlock pace around the room, he was agitated and in need of a fix. "Sherlock, we solved two cases this week and we're working a third, that's not so bad," Molly tried to reassure him.

"Yes Molly," he spat, stopping to look at her before he continued to pace. "Two cases, that's great. Except that they were stupid and dull and boring." He drew out the 'o' in boring, menacingly. "Fours, both of them. Hooker stealing jewelry from middle-aged women to support her boyfriends drug habit and a husband who walked out in his wife. What's the fun in that?" He continued". They don't matter, not when Moriarty is still out there".

"Yes but..." she tried to protest.

"Don't you see?" Sherlock yelled. "No of course you don't, let me say this in a way you'll understand". Molly stood up, angry. She may not be as smart as him but she was not a fool and she was certainly not going to let him talk to her that way. She was furious and she wanted to punch his cocky face. "Put very simply," Sherlock continued, ignoring Molly's sudden movement from across the room. "Moriarty is still out there and he is planning something and I guarantee you are a target and I won't let that happen".

Molly couldn't process Sherlock's words through her anger so she stared at him stupidly, managing to spit out a "what?". Sherlock sighed.

"You are the reason I am still alive. The reason his plan failed. The reason he is back now. He underestimated you and he won't make that mistake again. You're in danger. Why do you think I kept you around all week? I'm trying to keep an eye on you, or whatever it is people are suppose to do for other people that..." He paused stumbling over his words, his hands making frantic gestures in the air.

"Who are your friends...?" Molly suggested.

"No." Sherlock said darkly. Molly looked up at him, unsurprised but hurt nevertheless by his dismissal. He was standing as still as a marble statue, his piercing blue eyes glaring at the floor intensely. He blinked furiously and then his head snapped up to gaze into her eyes. "I mean... Yes. Friends. Yes." Sherlock mumbled, halfheartedly correcting himself. There was a long uncomfortable silence and it was Sherlock who finally spoke again. "John's not actually at parenting classes", he smirked at the thought of John changing diapers on plastic dolls before becoming serious once more. "I informed him of my concerns and he agreed that this arrangement is best for the time being".

"But why does it matter?" Molly asked. Still trying to process what Sherlock had just said. He was quiet for a long time before looking at her, his eyes burning with something she didn't quite recognize.

"Because you matter," he almost whispered. Before she knew what was happening Molly stalked across the room to where he was standing. Her anger had dissipated but had left her with a strange energy. She couldn't figure him out; her emotions were a jumble and her brain filled with confusion. She walked straight up to him and did something that surprised them both. She grabbed his face with both hands and kisses him fiercely. Her hands moving to intertwine themselves in his hair as she traced the outline of his lips with her tongue. He tasted amazing, sweet and soft with a hint of coffee and cigarettes. She paused for a second before kissing him once more, softer this time, and then she pulled away and walked out of the flat.


	3. Chapter 3: The Mind Palace Garden

Sherlock stared blankly at the wall of the flat, his eyes fixed on the familiar curves and shadows of the wallpaper. His mind however, was elsewhere, trying to comprehend the events that just took place. Molly had kissed him. Molly Hooper. That can't possibly be true. Sherlock was all too aware of her feelings for him, however misplaced they may be, but Molly was never one to act on them so forcefully. There had been many a time when she had tried to ask him to dinner or for coffee. She would trip over her words; emotion getting the best of her and Sherlock would pretend not to notice until she eventually gave up. He knew it hurt her, and he took no joy in the pain he caused, but it was the easiest way for him to turn her down without pushing her away altogether. He evidently needed to re-evaluate the opinions he held of Molly so as not to be caught off guard again. He did not enjoy surprises. Sherlock sunk deeper into the pool of thoughts that was Molly Hooper. He knew that she was no longer intimidated by him, a fact that she had made quite clear the day John had found him in that drug den.

"How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with!" she had yelled accusingly as she slapped him across the face. He cringed internally at that memory. Her anger was tolerable, but it was the look of disappointment in her eyes, reflected in the eyes of everyone else in the room, that made him hurt. In an attempt to his cover up the guilt he felt, his response had been a snide remark about her terminated engagement. What a complete arse he was. Not that it mattered, he had always been an arse, even to the people who mattered most to him.

"Caring is not an advantage," Mycroft's words rang in his ears, condescension dripping from every syllable.

"How true that is, brother mine" Sherlock said, thinking of Molly. She was a smart, sensible, independent woman yet there she was chasing after him; him of all people. It was a weakness, spreading like a disease from person to person, taking over their minds and making them irrational and stupid.

"John bring me a coffee," he said out of habit only to remember that John had not lived in the flat for years. Suddenly Sherlock felt lonely. He sighed in frustration, blowing a puff of air from his nose as he closed his eyes. This is what he could not understand. The emotions, why did they keep coming back? Pointless, feelings that served no purpose other than to hinder one's intellectual abilities. The reason he felt alone when he knew other people didn't matter. The reason Molly made a fool of herself when she was around Sherlock. The reason Sherlock didn't mind. Why didn't he mind? Suddenly, he was in his mind palace, it seemed as though he was about to find out.

Sherlock looked around trying to focus on his surroundings. He was standing in front of a large stone wall that appeared to stretch infinitely through the clouds. The wall was laden with thick tangled ivy that hugged the stone as if it were the only thing holding it together. He watched as a Robin flew by, twittering and chirping gently as though it meant to tell him a secret. As he watched the Robin fly away, a small round wooden door appeared in the middle of the wall. How peculiar Sherlock though to himself, this was very unlike the rest of his mind palace; it was calm and yet full of energy, if Sherlock hadn't known better he would have said it was magical. Though Sherlock did know better, and at six years old had spent two weeks researching the explanations to every magic trick, illusion and supernatural occurrence ever to have fooled an audience. He did not believe in divine miracles or other-worldly forces, but somehow this was different. He couldn't deny the hum of living energy that surrounded him as he stepped through the threshold.

Before him, was a beautiful garden with soft green grass, filled to the brim with roses. He looked around, unsure of what to do and suddenly, he was no longer alone. A young girl, roughly age ten stood in front of him, she had long blonde hair and clear blue eyes, framed with small brown glasses.

"You're weird," she told him.

"You're incompetent he replied", realizing as he said the words that his deep baritone had been replaced by the whiny voice of a child. He checked his reflection in the girl's glasses but only the wide eyes and chubby cheeks of ten-year-old Sherlock looked back at him. Suddenly, he remembered this scene. He had been on the playground at school, dissecting the shell of a large beetle he had found when she had rudely interrupted and… The girl leaned in and kissed him quickly on the mouth. He stared back at her suspiciously before flicking her in the nose. Suddenly, the girl was gone and in her place stood a young woman of about seventeen. She had small pixie like features and brown hair that was crimped and piled messily on her head.

"Shhhher-lock I had… a reeaally nice night… reallyyy nice" she slurred. Intoxicated. He looked down to see his clean cut tuxedo and her all too revealing, short red prom dress. He squinted his eyes, reminded of that horrible night; his parents had made him go to prom. The girl leaned in towards his face but she tripped and he caught her reflexively.

"Thanks," she breathed, giggling hysterically. Her words smelt appallingly of vodka. Sherlock leaned away but she grabbed his curls, which had been longer at that time, and searched for his lips, assaulting his mouth with her tongue. He shoved her away from him,

"You revolt me—" his words were cut off. He knew in the actual event he had said her name but apparently he had deleted it. He could not have cared less. He watched her stumble backwards and fall. As she stood up again it was not his drunk prom date but Janine who looked up at him.

"Sherl?" she asked looking at him expectantly.

"Well that's not happening" Sherlock replied before brushing past her. That's a memory he was not about to relive anytime soon. He heard footsteps behind him and turned, expecting to see Janine pursuing him but there was Molly Hooper instead. He smiled, only to see her furious expression before her lips crashed down on his. He had never liked kissing; it was unsanitary, unnecessary and therefore unwanted. Though with Molly it was… okay. He remembered every detail in his mind, the warmth of her body, the force and urgency of her lips, the smell of her hair and the wave of closeness he felt when she peeked at him over her shoulder before leaving. He knew the facts but he couldn't explain the feelings and he hated it.

His phone buzzed on the counter and Sherlock was shaken from his stupor. He looked around only to come to the realization that he was still standing in the same place he was when Moly left. The clock confirmed that that had been hours ago. "Well John, that was certainly interesting," Sherlock said, knowing before the words had left his mouth that no one was there to answer. He shook his head, pushing back those unwelcome thoughts and stretching his arms out in front of him. Rolling his head in a semi circle, he went to check his messages.

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Thanks for reading guys. I hope you're liking it… if not, leave a review! Well, either way I'd love to hear your feedback and I can try and incorporate any prompts if there is something you really want to see happen. Also I don't know if anyone got the allusion to the secret garden for that part of sherlock's mind palace, but it represents the power of emotion over science and facts, and the necessity of human companionship. Next chapter is going to be similar to this one but Molly's side of the story as she realizes what she just did. xoxo


	4. Chapter 4: Mistakes and Murders

Molly closed her eyes and sighed. She had the worst headache; like a full marching band, drums pounding, horns blaring, feet stomping, all in her head. Sighing again, she forced herself off the couch and slouched off to her bedroom in exhaustion. She changed out of her clothes and let them fall carelessly to the floor. Folding into the sheets, she let herself relax for the first time that day, since leaving 221B. She thought back to the day's events and already felt the embarrassment seeping back into her skin. Sherlock hadn't responded to her text yet so she had no idea what his reaction would be, probably a poorly concealed insult paired with a cold dismissal of sentiment as a whole. The usual. Why had she done this again? Sherlock had said some nice things for once. It didn't change the fact that he had made it very clear he took no Romantic interest in her; but there she was, throwing herself at him like a desperate teenager, only to have her heart broken time and time again.

"Molly Hooper calm down," she spoke the words out loud in an attempt to convince herself it was possible, though she knew from experience it was not. She thought back to Baker Street and how she had lost control of her emotions in every way and the scene replayed in her mind as she finally drifted off to sleep.

She had kissed him. She had kissed Sherlock Holmes, not once, but twice. Molly had just left the flat and the cloudy bliss of Sherlock's lips had dissipated leaving her with only with a sick sinking feeling.

"Jesus Molly what did you just do, you were suppose to be done with all of that," she muttered to herself. She turned to go back inside to apologize, before stopping to consider his reaction. What if he was mad? Or repulsed by her forwardness? What if he didn't want to be around her anymore because of her consistently unpredictable and overly emotional state? She paced in front of the flat, panicky and agitated. The rain, which had subsided briefly, began to poor again and she knew that she had to make some sort of decision. What was she going to do? Why did she have to be so stupid? Why did Sherlock have to be so… himself? She glanced briefly at the door of the flat before deciding it was best just to leave. She couldn't face him, at least not yet. Feeling like the coward she was, Molly slunk guiltily off to work in hopes that it would distract her.

She walked into the morgue expecting it to be relatively empty but much to her dismay, there were several people crowding the small space, including two police officers. They were all looking at a stack of files and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones, laced with concern. She was about to turn around and sneak out but unfortunately William, one of the morgue technicians, noticed her.

"Molly! We didn't think you we're coming in today," he called out. Knowing she couldn't get out of it, she turned to face him. William was a sweet guy, and his round face was framed with innocent blue eyes and clean-cut short brown hair. He was a few years younger than her and much too eager but nevertheless his presence was often refreshing. At one point she believed he was going to ask her to dinner but he never did. Maybe her clear infatuation with Sherlock had made itself noticeable and he had thought better of it. She cursed her silly heart once again, even when she had the chance to meet a nice guy, Sherlock always managed to get in the way.

"Hi Will, I didn't think I was either but…um" he waited for her to finish her sentence and glanced around awkwardly when she didn't.

"Well we're glad to have you here," he continued. "We've encountered a bit of a crisis." Molly smiled, thankful that William hadn't dwelled on her own incompetence. She let herself forget Sherlock for a moment and shifted into her working mind.

"Ok, give me the details. How can I help?" William flashed her a half smile and then became serious as well.

"There have been two double homicides. The first was two males age 35 and 37 and the second a man and woman ages 38 and 33. Both were couples, not married but living in common law relationships. Time of death has already been determined for roughly 2:30 pm for the first and 3:30 pm for the second and it appears as if it is the same murderer." Molly considered this information, it was all very standard and she saw no indication of a crisis.

"Okay. So what seems to be the problem?" she asked.

"Well…" William said pausing to reflect on the situation before continuing. "First of all, the murders took place roughly an hour apart but in locations more than three hours away from each other by car. Also, we can't seem to determine the causes of death for any of the victims. Both couples were found naked in their beds. No external injuries, no sign of struggle. Drug tests are being conducted but so far they have all come back negative."

"Yes, that is strange," Molly agreed, "and too much of a coincidence to go undetected."

"Well yes," William paused, "and identical notes we're found in each home, pinned to severed fingers left in the victim's fridges reading 'YES DARLING THIS IS A MURDER.'" Molly frowned, how very peculiar.

"And how were the police first alerted that there had been murders?" Molly inquired, trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

"Anonymous tip," William replied, clearly confused by the situation as well. Molly was beginning to feel queasy; this had Moriarty written all over it and that meant there was really only one person to call. At the though of Sherlock, all of her previous insecurities came flooding back to her. Pushing them down, she followed William over to the rest of the group and got to work examining the files.

"Can I take a look at the bodies?" she asked. No one seemed to object so she left the busy group and went to work, thankful to be alone at last. Her earlier feelings of despair and confusion that she had so persistently repressed began to push their way back into her mind. Unable to restrain them any longer she allowed them to wash over her as she went to work. What was she going to do about Sherlock? She could go back to the flat but she didn't want to face another rejection in person. As weak as it was, that was not something she could take. Option two, pretend as though nothing happened and return to helping Sherlock with cases as usual. That was preferable but Sherlock would eventually bring it up and he had probably told John and…

"Blast it," Molly cursed. Sherlock was one thing but what would John think? She felt like a child who had done something naughty and now had to face her disappointed parents. Plan C. She had no plan C… Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by her work. She had been running some tests to see if there was anything abnormal found in the bodies and it had just presented itself that all four had tested positive for _clostridium botulinim_, the same thing Moriarty had used to kill Carl Powers. She had found the substance used, now she needed to figure out how the bacteria had gotten into victims systems.

"_Clostridium botulinim_ is an obligate anaerobe so it can't live in the presence of oxygen, which means it must have been introduced to the victims within another median. But what…" she whispered. She wouldn't be able to determine that without examining the crime scene. Until then, she would finish up with the bodies; the crime scene would have to wait until tomorrow.

Molly awoke with a start in the middle of the night, her clock reading 3am. She blinked furiously, trying to account for her surroundings. She had just been in the morgue and now… It took her a moment to realize it was just a dream. She let herself relax back into her pillow, chuckling at the misfortune of having to relive a horrible day, in her sleep. After the long hours spent in the morgue, on what should have been her day off, she had reasoned with herself back and forth before finally sending Sherlock a text. She yawned, feeling tired just thinking about recent events and closed her eyes again, letting sleep take her as she drifted off into a thankfully dreamless void.

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Hi guys, I hope you like the next chapter! How the plot thickens... What text did Molly send to Sherlock? Is Moriarty in fact back? Will William ask Molly to dinner? Please Review!


	5. Chapter 5: What We Really Need Is John

"John I need you," the words still rung in his ears. He could not have imagined that the great Sherlock Holmes would admit to needing him, and yet not forty-five minutes ago Sherlock had called him up and said just that. He felt that stab of weakness deep in his gut that made him powerless to Sherlock's charm. That made _him_, the ex-soldier, submit to the wishes of his handsomely unstable and sociopathic best friend. Well that's love, John supposed and he took comfort in the fact that Sherlock loved him too. Not in the conventional sense, and not in the way that made them gay… he thought. It was difficult to explain, not lovers, but more than friends. They were life partners. Sherlock didn't necessarily disagree with this, but often took their little moments touched with sentiment to point out the irrelevance of it all, which is why his earlier statement had been quite lovely.

John had to admit that the excited, "there's been a murder, well two murders really. Isn't it wonderful?" that followed had somewhat nullified the intensity of his words, but it was Sherlock after all and John didn't expect any less.

An hour later, John found Sherlock in a lab at Bart's, staring intensely at his computer screen. He expected some sort of explanation in response to the earlier phone call, since Sherlock had been working with Molly for the past few weeks, but Sherlock skipped the niceties and launched straight into the case.

"Oh good John, you're here. I've been talking to you for the past half hour."

"Hello to you too Sherlock, Where's Molly?" John asked.

"She is otherwise engaged with various important matters," Sherlock replied quickly, but John saw the tension that pulled across his face. Oh no. What had Sherlock done, John's mind immediately went to the worst possible scenarios. Sherlock had used her as bait and forgotten her in a ditch. Sherlock had accidentally unleashed lethal mould into her apartment when she was sleeping. Sherlock had… The door clicked and Molly walked in sheepishly.

"Here are the reports you asked for," she said quietly, keeping her head down. "I noted the presence of the _clostridium botulinim _within the epidermal layer of the skin cells," she continued without making eye contact but while continuing to glance awkwardly between John and Sherlock. After an excruciating silence which consisted of Sherlock glaring at papers, Molly playing with her hands and John pretending not to notice the extreme discomfort that plagued the room, Molly excused herself and then left, adding a timid "um…oh hi John," as she closed the door behind her. John looked at his friend, confused by what had just happened. Clearly he was missing something.

"…Sherlock what was that?" he finally asked.

"Get out," Sherlock replied sharply.

"I bloody will not," John answered angrily. It was perfectly reasonable for one friend to inquire after another without having him flip his lid. Sherlock froze and then turned his head slowly towards John.

"I need to think, _please_, leave me be," he enunciated slowly. John sighed.

"I'll be back in 20 minutes."

"Oh and get me a coffee," was the only reply.

"Insufferable bastard," John grumbled under his breath and left the room, a foul mood setting in on his brow.

After some time spent moping and grumping over Sherlock's complete inability to be anyone but himself, John decided to put his time to good use and do some detective work of his own.

"Molly, how are you," he said cheerfully, when he found her down in the morgue. She looked up and blushed visibly, mumbling a half-hearted greeting.

"Molly," John said sternly, giving her a knowing look, "what happened?" A look of surprised pinched her eyebrows together, taking away her careful and submissive expression.

"You mean he didn't tell you?" she asked carefully.

"No, I know absolutely nothing about what is going on. All I know is that there's a murder, I am needed, and there is perceivable tension between one Molly Hooper and the ridiculous man that is Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh," she answered simply, "It's um, it's a long story".

John smiled, "well I have twelve minutes". Molly smiled knowingly and then sighed, beginning right from the start.

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Sorry it's been a while since I updated. I was furiously studying for my AP English Literature Exam. Thank goodness that's over! I am also sorry that this chapter is short but I hope you liked the introduction of John as a more central character. Mary will be coming in soon. Also I've almost finished the next chapter and there's a big deduction to look foreword to. Thanks for reading xoxo


	6. Chapter 6: Don't Go Out For Dinner

Molly told John everything. It felt good to get it all off of her chest but she retained that sinking feeling in her stomach. Sherlock hadn't told John anything. What did that mean? She thought his dismissive behaviour was due to the fact that he hadn't wanted John to mention it. Knowing now that that was not the reason, she began to wonder if it was anger instead. Had Sherlock called John to replace her? Even though it had been awkward, she still enjoyed working with Sherlock. Neither of them had mentioned the incident and once she had revealed her discovery of the bacteria found in the bodies he had turned completely to the case. Maybe he had realized that he could not be around her if she acted in such strange ways. Molly had hoped that after having gotten through that first confrontation they could ignore everything else and move on. Evidently, Sherlock's feelings were not mutual. She could take his dismissal but Molly was not prepared to face his anger; just the thought of him yelling at her brought prickling tears to her eyes. She would have to apologize; then maybe he would be more understanding. She could blame it on her period. Even as the thought of the excuse bubbled to the forefront of her mind, she realized Sherlock would see right through it. He was probably able to determine a woman's regular menstrual cycle from the way she sipped her coffee. She left the morgue and went to seek out the consulting detective, hoping to extinguish his anger before it could grow any further.

Molly walked into the lab, mentally preparing herself for the undoubtedly uncomfortable apology, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen; John lounged in a chair across the room.

"He'll be back in a moment," John acknowledged her with a nod towards the door. Right on cue, Sherlock entered the room, eyes bright and hair flying messily across his brow. He didn't spare either of them so much as a glance before he launched into his findings.

"I discovered the means with which the bacteria entered the blood stream," he began. John opened his mouth to ask but Sherlock continued.

"It didn't." John and Molly looked at each other hesitantly.

"But I found it very clearly present on the skin of all four victims," Molly retorted. Sherlock nodded and suggested that they all go down to the morgue and inspect the bodies again, leaving before either of them had the chance to either concur or refuse.

In the morgue, with all four bodies laid out side by each, the three of them began their search. Sherlock paced around the table, stalking about intently like a cat hunts it's prey. John and Molly watched in silenced awe while Sherlock poked and prodded the bodies. Although they had seen it a million times, it was ever impressive to watch him work. His whole being was alive and buzzing with information. You could see him take in every detail; see him process it, catalogue it and connect everything together like pieces of a shattered picture being mended together with intellect alone. As aggravating as he may be, there was no denying his incredible abilities. Sherlock broke the silence.

"We established that _Clostridium botulinim, _otherwise know as botox is an obligate anaerobe and can only produce spores if given an oxygen free environment. With Carl Powers it was administered through his eczema medication but I reviewed the victims' medical files and none of them were being prescribed anything that could be used to administer that poison. That means that the only way for the bacteria to entre their system's was through an open wound or by ingestion of contaminated substances. None of the victims had any injuries, exterior or interior which would suggest the latter. However, review of the autopsy revealed little to no food in the victims systems. The bacteria work rapidly and would not take much time to incapacitate the victims thus more traces of a contaminate food should have been found within the victims' digestive systems."

"So it wasn't poison?" John asked. Sherlock's eyes gleamed.

"Or it was. But a different poison."

"A different poison?" Molly asked. "But the traces of _clostridium botulinim _where found on the skin."

"Yes but that doesn't mean they were ever active. Once on the skin, the bacteria are exposed to the air and become inactive. I initially assumed that the reason it was primarily found on the skin and not within the victim's intestines was because once they were paralyzed, the victim's bodies no longer supported the bacteria as live hosts. The bacteria are virtually untraceable once they are dead, except for small deposits in the upper layer of the skin, which is what showed positive in the tests. However, seeing as there is no way to determine any medium in which it entered the bodies I had to consider the chance that it was not the _clostridium botulinim _that killed the victims and that it was simply put on the exterior of the bodies in order to obscure our results."

"But we still don't know how the victims could have been exposed to any other poison," John questioned. Sherlock flashed him an amused smile.

"Don't we?" He became serious to the point of sidelined anger. "Look! Look at them! You're a doctor. What do you see? What do all four of these people have in common?" John inspected the bodies.

"They're all left handed," he suggested uncertainly. "The slight prominence of the wrist flexors and brachioradialis indicates dominance of that hand.

"Yes!" Sherlock said enthusiastically before letting the sarcasm comb through his words. "However that's completely irrelevant. No, look at the way that each of their postures is just slightly off centre. One arm held a little higher than the other, the angle of the lower jaw being tilted inward, the minute protrusion of the collarbone on the left side. These could just be every day aches and pains, but this is not every day and the universe is never so lazy. These are all symptoms of a diaphragm strain, which can be confirmed if you analyze the tightness of the rib cage around the adrenal diaphragm. Diaphragm strains can be the result of external blows to the rib cage and surrounding area but seeing as none of the victims have a history in high intensity sports and have no sign of recent exterior wounds the most likely reason for a strain in that area is severe vomiting."

"Which would account for the lack of substance found in the victims' systems," Molly realized.

"Precisely," Sherlock continued, "Now if both you and your partner suddenly start to become violently sick it would likely raise some concern, unless you had an explanation."

"The victim's knew they were being poisoned?" John asked.

"Unlikely," Sherlock replied darkly. "However, if you take a look at one of the victims hands there are minuscule traces of what appears to be wasabi under the nail. If the couples had gone out for dinner, they could easily write off their sickness as food poisoning. _Saxiotoxin_ is a lethal poison found in shellfish and whose symptoms are often confused with those of food poisoning, it works much more slowly than _clostridium botulinim _and would give the victim's bodies time to react to the poison, effectively getting rid of the evidence. Quite brilliant really. When I went through the victims credit records it showed that both of the couples were at a sushi restaurant about an hour and a half away from their respective homes. Thus, it is likely the murderer planned for the couples to be at that restaurant on purpose and that it is where the poison was administered. I have conducted tests on the bodies in order to confirm it, the results should be ready in approximately ten minutes."

"Brilliant," John praised and Sherlock smiled, still unaccustomed to that type of reaction. He had been with John for years but he still feared that someday he would tell him he was crazy and to bugger off. "Well I should get going, Mary will be wondering where I am, but please call me if you need anything," John smiled and left, giving both Molly and Sherlock pointed looks. As the door clicked shut and silence closed around them, Molly and Sherlock stared at each other uncomfortably.

"I've been meaning to talk to you" Sherlock said at last, keeping his gaze directed at the floor.

"Me too," Molly said quietly.

Sherlock looked up at her shyly, "ladies first?" he suggested gently. Molly was thrown by his hesitance but tried to keep her resolve strong. She took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes. The intensity of his stare sent a jolt through her and she quickly snapped her head down to look at her hands.

"I just wanted to… you know. Um… apologize. For my actions a few days ago, I was… not thinking straight and it was a mistake. I hope we can just pretend it never happened and move past it and never mention it again," Molly finished quickly and peeked up through her eyelashes.

Sherlock tried to conceal the surprise that fought to claw across his features. He stared at her intently but saw only truthfulness in her expression. He turned quickly, spinning on his heels, and walked away. His coat tails flapped dramatically in a crazy whirlwind behind him as he marched off, the heaviness of an undeclared dinner invitation weighing him down like a boulder in his pocket.

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I hope you guys liked the deduction! I tried to make it believable. Please review! xoxo


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